


Where Your Road Leads

by FieryAngel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Angelic Lore, Canon Compliant, Canon Compliant until it's not, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Consent Issues, Dean Dreams, Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx Mixtape, Emotional Hurt, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Episode: s13e01 Lost and Found, Episode: s13e02 The Rising Son, Episode: s13e03 Patience, Episode: s13e04 The Big Empty, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Grace Headcanon, Hurt Castiel, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Lily Sunder Knows Some Shit, Love Confessions, M/M, Mixtape Abuse, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Past Emotional Abuse Implied (Lily/Ishim), Post-Episode: s12e10 Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets, Post-Episode: s13e01 Lost and Found, Post-Episode: s13e03 Patience, Post-Episode: s13e04 The Big Empty, Season 13 Castiel/Dean Winchester Reunion, Season/Series 13, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn, Somewhat graphic description of funeral pyre, Soulmates, Tattoos, Temporary Character Death, WIP, Wing Headcanon, Winged Castiel, kind of?, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:05:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FieryAngel/pseuds/FieryAngel
Summary: Lily Sunder had only met Castiel and Dean once, but in that short time, she had seen so much. Her powers had shown her things normal humans couldn't perceive, and when she finds out Castiel has died, she is overwhelmed with thewrongnessof it all. This was never meant to be his fate.Dean was lost, broken and utterly faithless after the death of Castiel. He tried to push forward, save people, hunt things, but he was just going through the motions. Waiting to die.Castiel woke up in a field, alone, sun shining, birds singing, the crunch of dehydrated grass under his palms and the scent of overripe blackberries thick in the Spring air. Three days later, he called Dean to tell him he was back.This is the story of what Dean went through, where Cas was, and just how Lily fits into all of this.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the Wing Squadron. You know who you are. I love you all... but Cas' wings are NOT hot pink. *scowls*
> 
> Special thanks to MaraschinoSqueeze: My friend and sounding board, fellow night owl, badass, the only person to read this prologue before it was truly ready, and forever the loudest voice in my cheering section. Writing is easier when there's someone to bounce ideas off of and this thing would still be untitled if it weren't for you.
> 
> For everyone else. I don't know you, but I love you nonetheless. This is a work in progress, and apologies to my other WIP and those reading it, and to my little series desperately in need of an update, but this one has stolen my soul for the time being. I plan to write as often as I can, but I cannot set an update schedule due to my own tendency to become distracted by shiny things, SPNLV coming up soon, and you know... life and stuff ;) But, I will try to update as regularly as humanly possible. 
> 
> Last note: This prologue is from Lily Sunder's POV, and she will most likely have POV chapter sections here and there throughout the fic, but this is a Destiel fic at its core, and will be told mostly from Cas or Dean's POVs.
> 
> Title Inspiration:
> 
>  _WHERE YOUR ROAD LEADS_  
>  (Trisha Yearwood ft. Garth Brooks)
> 
> I believe in miracles  
> I believe in signs  
> And I believe that mountains move  
> One prayer at a time  
> If I could be an angel  
> I'd make your every wish come true  
> But I am only human  
> Just a woman  
> Lovin' you  
> Where your road leads  
> I will follow  
> When your heart bleeds  
> I'll be there for you  
> When your night grows dark  
> And you can't find your tomorrow  
> Then you can follow me  
> Someday we'll look back and see  
> Our footprints in the sand  
> Sometimes you would carry me  
> And sometimes you'd be in my hands  
> If we can love forever  
> That won't be long enough for me  
> I want to hold you tender  
> Be your shelter  
> All you need  
> Where your road leads  
> I will follow  
> When your heart bleeds  
> I'll be there for you  
> When your night grows dark  
> And you can't find your tomorrow  
> Then you can follow me  
> Oh, we can be each other's guiding light  
> Through this long and winding life  
> Where your road leads  
> I will follow  
> When your heart bleeds  
> I'll be there for you  
> When your night grows dark  
> And you can't find your tomorrow  
> When you've lost sight of your dreams  
> Then you can follow me

PROLOGUE

May, 2017

Lily Sunder had gotten her revenge and was oddly content with her life as it was now. At first, she had thought knowing Castiel was out there alive in the world would gnaw away at her until she was driven to hunt him down and end him, but it hadn’t. Her thirst for vengeance was sated for the time being. Still, she tuned into angel radio, listened for murmurs and news on the last living member of the six-angel flight that had been commanded to come to Earth by Lily’s obsessed ex-lover, Ishim. The threat of a nephilim and a sense of heavenly duty had been siren call enough for the others to follow without questioning Ishim’s motives. Though how they hadn’t noticed how he’d go missing in the past to spend time with her, or how they failed to sense that her daughter was human, Lily never knew. She supposed they were blinded by the staunch obedience Heaven demanded. After devoting her life to understanding them, she almost couldn’t fault them. 

Almost.

The others were dead now of course, killed by her own hand, and by Castiel’s. Perhaps it was that one act, that split second thrust of Castiel’s angel blade through Ishim’s back that allowed her to let go of her need for vengeance on the seraph. She remembers how it had felt to watch the grace burn out of Ishim, the sight of his wings scorched into the floor of the abandoned church. His death had lifted a weight from her shoulders and made her feel as if she could breathe again for the first time in a century. No, it wouldn’t bring May back, nothing would, but her death was avenged and Lily could rest.

Castiel had killed one of his own, someone he had considered a brother, and in doing do, had sided with a human, or with what little humanity was left in her after the Enochian magic had chipped away at her soul. He had chosen humanity over another angel, and that fact alone should have been enough for Lily to leave him be. She should have just walked away and forgotten about him, but there were similarities between Castiel and the other angels she had gotten to know that raised a red flag for her. 

First, was the way Castiel looked at Dean Winchester. Lily knew sexuality was a touchy subject with angels. They weren’t meant to want things for themselves. They weren’t meant to feel. They weren’t meant to mix with humans. They weren’t meant to take on a gender. But these rules existed to prevent nephilim, and as long as Castiel retained his male vessel, there was no real barrier between him and Dean aside from their own stubbornness. 

Lily, of course, viewed their closeness with trepidation after her horrible experience with Ishim. She had thought she might have loved him, once upon a time, but he was controlling and in love to the point of being dangerously obsessed.

That was the thing about angels. Human temptations could become deliriously addictive to them. Sugar, television, alcohol, a particular human, it could be any earthbound thing, really. Some were relatively safe distractions considering angels’ virtual immortality, others were perilous because they made angels FEEL, and nothing was more taboo in Heaven than messy human emotions. Either way, most angels developed a weakness if they spent too much time on earth, and Lily had quickly become Ishim’s.

Dean was Castiel’s.

Lily had eventually found companionship in her protector, Akobel, and through him, she learned that some angels had goodness and light in them. Akobel’s human weakness was humanity in general. He saw beauty and light in humans and knew they were worth protecting. 

She sensed that same goodness and love of humanity in Castiel, and that goodness was one part of what made her let him go in the end. The other being Dean. Lily’s use of Enochian magic had given her some interesting abilities over the years. She was able to sense longing, and if a prayer was desperate enough, she could occasionally pick it up, though it would give her a nasty headache. Because of this magical empathy, she could see that the feelings between Castiel and Dean, though not acted on by either party, did run both ways. Dean longed for Castiel with every fiber of his being, his soul reached out to the angel desperately, and the man wouldn’t hesitate to tear her apart if she hurt Castiel. Her powers dictated that she could take him, but he was human, and she’d never been in this to hurt humans.

Castiel loved Dean, and from what Lily could see in the way his sparse wings fluffed up and reached for the man, it was all consuming. Yet, it didn’t seem like the toxic obsession Ishim had with her, and his aura was undeniably pure. Still, she worried for Dean. As strong as the man was, as obvious as he was about his own feelings, he was human, and humans are fragile. His fragile nature is what kept him sneaking glances at Castiel instead of admitting his feelings. They were both bogged down with the same doubt and fear of non-reciprocation. 

Lily knew it would take nothing at all for Castiel to destroy him and everything he’d ever loved if he so fancied. If something happened and he became the next Ishim, Lily would never forgive herself for letting the angel live. It was this dichotomy between love and obsession that convinced her keep tabs on Castiel.

Some days she’d lay in bed and scan angel radio for whispers. Others, she did some good, old fashioned stalking, following Castiel to see what he got up to. Because of these methods, she was soon privy to the information that the angel had been tracking a woman who just so happened to be pregnant with a nephilim. Lily’s protective instincts kicked in, and she followed him closely, prepared to protect an innocent woman if need be. Time went on, and Lily watched as Castiel evolved from hunting Kelly Kline to protecting her and her unborn child. He’d even gone as far as to hide Kelly from Dean. Crisis averted, Lily had retreated again to listen into the angels from the quiet of her own home.

In general, Angel Radio was quiet these days, a dull roar of background noise instead of the constant chatter it had been when she’d first tuned in over a hundred years ago. Back then it was quiet in a different way. It was a buzz of thousands of constant voices, jumbled together and indecipherable in their quantity. They sounded far away, like listening to a neighbor’s big family dinner through an open window. In recent years, after the deaths of many angels, the voices were fewer and easier to pick out. Then the angels had fallen, and it had become a loud cacophony of panic. Flightless and abandoned on earth, the chatter had been overwhelmingly unintelligible. It had taken a couple years of careful listening and the ever thinning of the angels’ numbers to finally latch onto the location of the first angel from Ishim’s flight. 

Angel radio buzzed incessantly the night Lucifer’s child was born. A surge of power preceded what had to have been the voice of every remaining angel, agitated with the need to hunt the child down to use for their own purposes. Yet one voice had gone distinctly quiet. It was the one she had trained herself to pick out of the crowd. Castiel. He’d gone silent when she was sure he’d be there fighting for the child.

Concerned, Lily had tuned out of angel radio that night, concentrating on whispering the Enochian spell she’d used to track down Ishim’s flight. She laid still, repeating the words until her lips numbed from the repeated motions, and Castiel never came through. She could feel him though, the slightest little buzz of grace, and she reached for it, driving all day and following it to a little lakeside town in Washington state. 

When she got close to the whisper of grace that called to her, she parked her car and crept through the woods toward it. Reaching the tree line, she saw a clearing and a little white cottage, a tad worse for the wear, sitting near a still lake. The whole scene was laid out in the shadow of snowcapped mountains that reflected off the glasslike surface of the water. It would have been idyllic had she not had to witness what came next.

As she hid in the tree line, she watched Dean Winchester gather a wrapped bundle in his arms, shaking his head at his younger brother when Sam offered to help.

“I gotta do this myself,” Dean said, his voice rumbling and carrying to where Lily stood in the shadows of the fading sunlight.

Lily squinted, searching the clearing for Castiel, but there was no sign of him in spite of the slight pull of his grace. There was a young man present, the nephilim, perhaps? She knew from her studies on angels that nephilim could control their own rate of growth and that survival instincts could cause them to mature in the virtual blink of an eye. He was distinctly human in appearance, but Lily could see large wings laying limp behind him, shining copper in the fading light and completely invisible to the men he stood near. 

Wings were known to angel scholars to be a sign of an angel’s emotions, arching high and wide to intimidate or flattening low to the ground in submission. They would fluff in amusement or tremble with arousal, and it was involuntary giving rise to the rumor that wings were the reason angel’s were supposed to keep their feelings in check. If you can’t feel, your wings can’t reveal your weaknesses. 

The nephilim’s wings, hanging lifeless and half folded were a clear indication of profound sadness. It was as if he simply didn’t care enough to fold them neatly against his back, but seeing as he was just hours old, it was possible that he just didn’t have a handle on them yet. With his humanity weighing him down, there was even a chance he didn’t even know of their existence yet.

His aura was different from the angels she’d met over the years, more powerful with an underlying current of bright-as-the-sun human soul. His humanity gave him a body of his own, and with it a gender, unlike his angelic extended family. She studied him a bit longer, but didn’t sense anything evil within the creature. Lily would have to turn her studies to nephilim when she returned home. The boy had made her all too curious.

Sam stood next to the nephilim, close, as if he trusted him, and watched as his brother heaved what Lily could now clearly see was a body swathed in cream colored sheets, onto a wood pyre. She could see the torn edges of the fabric that hung from bound limbs. _‘Rending of garments?’_ she wondered. If so, this was someone important to them… to Dean in particular if his refusal of help is any sign. 

Dean struggled with the large body, but managed to snug it in alongside a much more delicate body wrapped in a matching sheet. The mother, most likely. Most mothers of nephilim do not survive the birthing process unless they are the angel half of the parentage. Was the other body, the father? That was unlikely, seeing as the father was the Devil himself, but if not him, then who?

Sam and the boy were talking, their voices just drowned out enough by the gasoline splashing onto the pyre from the can in Dean’s hand that Lily couldn’t make out the words. Then the world stopped spinning as Dean’s gruff voice barked out a subdued, “Well, goodbye Cas.”

More words were spoken, but Lily no longer heard them. Castiel was dead. He was dead, but the pull of his grace was still there in the little lakeside clearing. She had a split second to wonder if she should stop them before Dean tossed his lighter into the gasoline soaked pyre and it lit up faster than Lily would have thought possible.

Flames rose high, acrid smoke filling the air and catching in the breeze to curl its way up Lily’s nose, the scent and sting of it making her eyes water. She shut them tightly and focused her powers as best she could. They were starting to burn out, each time she used them it took a little more of her with them, but she had to know. How was Castiel’s grace, or at least a part of it, still on earth?

Opening her eyes, she looked past the flames, past the men who stood in mourning and noticed for the first time the wing prints burned into the ground. They were large, possibly spanning thirty feet, but the feathers had been sparse from the fall. Castiel had been a powerful seraph in his life, possibly powerful enough to tether a piece of himself here.

Sam and the nephilim were the first to move away from the glowing circle of fire. The stench of burning flesh had mixed with woodsmoke and gasoline, and it seemed as if Sam wanted to spare the young man the horror of smelling his own mother essentially cooking as he watched. The pair disappeared into the cottage, leaving Dean staring at the flames, his eyes wet with unshed tears and his jaw slack in shock. Lily stood watching him for a few minutes, her heart aching for him.

“Damn it, Cas,” Dean spoke finally, his voice rough with grief and the burn of the smoke, but loud enough for Lily to hear. “How could you? I fucking told you never to do this to me again. And I tried to stop you. I called for you, goddamn it. You didn’t even flinch. And Sam. God help me not resent him, but he pulled me away from you. I tried to come after you, and he dragged me back through the damned tear. When you came back through… fuck… I was so happy. You were safe. Then…Lucifer… I had to watch you flame out. I had to look at your w-w-wings,” a sob escaped him, interrupting his flow of words as tears finally started to fall unfettered. He glanced over at the wings scorched into the sand and sagged to his knees, his head hanging limply as tears continued to fall into his lap. “I had to look at your wings burned into the ground. This is it this time, you son of a bitch! You stupid, heartless son of a bitch! I loved you, Cas. Fuck, I loved you so much. You better be in Heaven, and you better pull some strings when I bite it so I can see you again. It won’t be long, angel. It can’t be. I can’t do this without you.” Dean sniffled and wiped roughly at the wetness on his face as he fell silent again, but he remained on his knees, watching the flames continue to burn bright, carrying the ashes of his beloved away on the wind.

Lily stood in her hiding spot, tears threatening to spill over as she struggled with whether or not to show herself. She had so many things to say, but none were things Dean would want to hear. She couldn’t tell him about The Empty. Dean didn’t deserve to know that Castiel was in that inescapable place. 

The presence of Castiel’s grace had weakened with the departure of the nephilim, and Lily wondered if Castiel had somehow fathered the child instead of Lucifer. Angel radio had buzzed with the news, and no mention of Castiel was made, but it was curious how the grace seemed to dim with the retreating boy.

Yet, it was still here as well, and as Lily emerged from the shadows and moved closer to Dean, she could feel the pull strengthen. She reached for it, feeling it radiate out to her as she searched for its source and before she knew what was happening, she was standing a few feet behind Dean. It was there, within him, most likely left behind after Castiel’s fabled mission to rescue the man from hell. Yes, she’d heard the stories, knew that Dean’s soul was rescued and restored, his body rebuilt so he could be a pawn in Heaven’s apocalypse plans. It only made sense that he’d been knitted together with a bit of Castiel’s healing grace. Castiel probably held a tiny piece of Dean’s soul as well, and that was gone now, burned with Castiel’s body. It almost seemed fitting.

She wanted to speak, to tell Dean she was sorry for his immense loss, but the last time they’d seen each other, she’d been on a mission to kill Castiel. Now that he was dead, it wouldn’t even matter that it wasn’t by her hand, Dean would still lash out at her. Instead, she retreated silently, years of training keeping her steps light, and disappeared back through the woods to the car she’d stashed.

As she drove, she thought about all that had happened, and to her own surprise, she mourned. 

She had known when she saw them together all those months back. She had spent enough time around angels, studying them and learning all their secrets from Ishim and Akobel to know what Dean and Castiel had been destined for. This was a mistake. He should not have been taken from Dean. His fate was never meant to be The Empty. Her stomach dropped as she thought of Castiel… good, pure, humanity-loving Castiel, left to sleep forever alone in the dark. 

This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

It was all wrong.

She had seen his wings, and they had shown her everything.


	2. Unanswered Prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV Dean
> 
> Timeframe: The space between 13x01 and 13x02
> 
> I'm sorry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Chapter titles are named after Garth Brooks songs. Those familiar with his music may not see the some of the lyrics connecting with the chapters, so I’ll add lyrics if they fit the story, but leave only the title if it’s basically just a title. If that makes sense. (Like, in this case, the title fits, but the song itself is far more hopeful than Dean’s situation, so no lyrics.)
> 
> Little bit of dialogue repetition at the beginning.
> 
> Not all chapters will be this short, but I have certain chunks of story I want to tell and definite stopping and starting points for them, so try not to go batty when one chapter is 2300 words and another is 8000, LOL. 
> 
> Also...Try not to get TOO comfortable with rapid updates, but I'm in a zone, so I'll do my best.

_Unanswered Prayers_

 

Flames continued to lick the sky, embers floating on the air, dropping onto Dean’s exposed hands, face and neck. He didn’t even feel it. Probably wouldn’t even notice the small, angry red marks they left behind. He could smell the burning flesh on the pyre and taste acrid smoke in the back of his throat. It wasn’t healthy to stay there, breathing it all in, the light of the flames against the darkness burning themselves into his retinas. He closed his eyes and could see the shadow glow behind his lids. 

He was alone. Sam and Jack had gone into the house, leaving him to mourn by himself. Somehow, his brother had known he needed space. He was alone, but he felt a presence, a buzz in the air similar to what he’d feel when Cas was near. Angelic. Dean wondered if Cas was watching over him still, if he could hear him, and before he knew it, words were tumbling free. Words he’d always been too much of a coward to say when Cas was alive. God, how he regretted that now. 

“Damn it, Cas, How could you? I fucking told you never to do this to me again. And I tried to stop you. I called for you, goddamn it. You didn’t even flinch. And Sam. God help me not resent him, but he pulled me away from you. I tried to come after you, and he dragged me back through the damned tear. When you came back through… fuck… I was so happy. You were safe. Then…Lucifer… I had to watch you flame out. I had to look at your w-w-wings,” 

Dean choked up, a sob working its way free from deep in his chest. He heard the snap of a twig in the distance. He knew someone was coming closer and he couldn’t even find it in himself to care if Sam heard him now. What difference would it make? Tears flowed freely and he dropped to his knees just as he had when Cas was laying dead at his feet, body still warm. It felt like seconds ago and a world away all at the same time. How could he have let this happen? How could he have just let Sam pull him away from Cas? He should have fought harder. Cas should have listened. What what he thinking? The stupid angel had to know he was no match for Lucifer and his blade would do nothing. And he watched Cas come back through the tear and stand there too close, much too close to the apocalypse world just on the other side. Why hadn’t he pulled Cas away from there? He should have saved him. This was all his fault.

“I had to look at your wings burned into the ground. This is it this time, you son of a bitch! You stupid, heartless son of a bitch! I loved you, Cas. Fuck, I loved you so much. You better be in Heaven, and you better pull some strings when I bite it so I can see you again. It won’t be long, angel. It can’t be. I can’t do this without you.” Dean blinked away the remaining tears and wiped their evidence from his cheeks. He stared ahead at the flames, still high, tendrils of smoke reaching toward the sky as if carrying Cas home to heaven.

Dean couldn’t say for sure how long he sat there, but he did know that at some point, the pyre collapsed on itself and the flames began to dwindle. He sat there long enough for his knees to ache and his feet to tingle and go numb from a lack of circulation. 

Dean was a jumble of thoughts and emotions as his memories flooded in around him. When the visions of Cas’ many deaths would creep in and cloud his mind, he would try to divert them. He thought of the good times, the eye of the shitstorm that was their lives. The time he tried to get Cas laid and the night just fell apart. God, if he could go back, he’d take the angel’s virginity himself. He hated that when it finally happened, it was that bitch April that took it. Cas deserved better. He always deserved better.

Dean sniffed as his eyes welled again up with warm, wet tears. Even his happy memories circled back to misery.

But there were those other little memories. The ones even Sam never really knew about. The time he made Cas the mixtape the day after Cas had said “I love you,” on his deathbed. It had been followed up with, “I love all of you,” but Dean knew that first one belonged to him alone and he’d packaged it up and stored it away in the deepest recess of his heart, a little private place he reserved for the very few things he refused to share.

Those late nights when he couldn’t sleep and he’d quietly sneak out of his room and into Cas’ because he knew the angel would be awake and welcoming of his company. Cas would make him popcorn and they’d sit shoulder to shoulder and watch one of Dean’s favorite movies because Dean wanted to share all of his favorite things with Cas. Dean would sometimes fall asleep halfway through Die Hard or Indiana Jones. He’d wake hours later, sometimes slumped against the headboard, other times with his head cradled in Cas’ lap and a blanket draped over his slumbering form while Cas just waited patiently for him to wake up. Cas was always good like that, always so caring and gentle with him, and God, Dean had never slept better than during those stolen nights. It was never awkward. Cas never pointed out that it was strange for same sex friends to sleep on one another, because he probably didn’t find it strange at all. He wondered if Cas ever snuck a soft caress of his hair or a brush of his lips on Dean’s cheek while he slept. Fuck, he wished he could do it all over again. He should have spent every night like that. He should have told him, kissed him… fuck, he should have _made love_ to him.

Dean heaved a heavy sigh. No matter the memory, he ended up feeling like shit, full of pain and regret, yet he couldn’t think of anything else. Every thought that came into his mind circled back to Cas. He could still feel the angel’s solid body, how firm and powerful he felt when Dean would hug him. He could hear the rumble of that deep voice and smell the sweet scent of rain-soaked earth that clung to Cas. How was he supposed to go on when everything reminded him of Cas?

He’d lost Cas before, a few times, but this was different. He’d never watched the blue-white glow of grace burn through Cas’ body or seen the huge expanse of scorched wings. It had never felt so final. No angel comes back from this, and the silence Chuck gave after Dean had prayed… _begged_ … for Cas back was proof. It was over. It was all over.

“God,” Dean whispered. “I can only hope you’re listening. I know you can’t give him back, maybe not even after I kick the bucket, though I hope I can see him on the other side someday. I hope you can at least give me that. Just… just make sure he’s happy. Please. He didn’t deserve this, Chuck. But hell, maybe I didn’t deserve him and that’s why you’re holding him hostage this time. I failed him. I failed everyone. I couldn’t keep any of them safe. But, God, Chuck, whatever, I loved him. You have to know that. And I just want him to find peace now. Even if I’m miserable without him, he doesn’t need to be. Can you do that for me? Can you just come down here and tell me if Cas is ok, or fuck, send a sign? ‘Cause if you don’t, I’m just gonna think the worst.” 

Dean stopped praying and looked back into the flames. The wind had stilled and the world had gone quiet, just the crackling of wood continuing to burn. There was no sign, no voice booming from the heavens or little bearded guy with a cocky grin to tell him it was going to be ok. No reassurance that Cas had gone to Heaven. He was just… gone, and he’d taken Dean’s faith with him. 

Sam finally came outside when the smoldering pile was nothing but a dim glow, little more than ash scattering in the breeze. He had settled Jack for the night and caught a few hours of sleep, waking in the pitch black of the cottage and wondering where his brother was. Surely, he still wasn’t outside. He’d pulled back a curtain to see Dean on the ground, still staring at what was left of the pyre. Sam had gone out to retrieve him, looking up to gauge the time. The moon still hung high in the sky, snug in a blanket of stars that were numerous and bright out here in the middle of nowhere. The sun had only been down for about an hour when Sam had left his brother’s side. Dean had stayed by Castiel’s side for hours. 

“Why don’t you come inside and get some sleep? Sun’s coming up in a few hours.” Sam asked, laying a hand on his brothers shoulder.

“Here? You want me to sleep twenty feet away from where Cas…” Dean sighed. “No.”

“Just a couple hours, Dean. You shouldn’t get behind the wheel right now. I can take Jack and pick up some food for when you wake up.”

Dean shrugged and jerked out of his brothers gentle grasp. “Don’t need sleep. Not hungry. Let’s go back to the bunker.” He pushed himself to his numb feet, stomping them to restore circulation and dragged a palm over his face. The tears from hours of crying off and on had long since evaporated, leaving his skin feeling stiff and itchy with dried salt and his eyes scratchy and dry. 

“What about Cas’ truck? Should one of us drive it back to the bunker? There’s room in the garage.” Sam’s voice was calm, measured as he navigated his way through feeling out Dean’s mood. 

“Why? He doesn’t need it anymore,” Dean snapped. “Just leave it. Roll it into the lake for all I care.”

Dean stomped up the steps, leaving his brother staring at him, jaw agape in shock. He slammed around the little cottage, flipping lights and gathering anything they’d brought it. It hadn’t been much. The hatchet he'd used to cut wood for the pyre laid discarded by the back door, tree sap dulling the metal. The gas can stood empty nearby. Sam must have brought it all in when he wasn’t paying attention. He held their meager belongings and trudged down the front steps to the Impala. He opened the trunk and dumped the stuff next to their duffle bags. Normally, everything had its place, but really, did it matter? He’d fix it when he cared again.

He slammed the trunk shut a little harder than necessary and forced himself to look at Cas’ truck. For a split second, his heart lurched, and he wondered if he shouldn’t keep the ratty, old thing. It broke down all the time and it wasn’t worth the money it would take to get it in good condition, but Cas loved his truck as much as he loved the pimpmobile that came before it. If he ever came back… Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and willed the tears away that threatened to start falling again. Cas wasn’t coming back. Not this time. The truck would stay.

Dean walked through the side yard and back to where Sam stood, staring down at the smoldering pile of ash that had once been the love of Dean’s life. “Ready?”

“Dean… are you even ok to drive?”

“I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

“Wait. I… uh… I found this on the seat in Cas’ truck.” Sam held out a little black plastic rectangle, shaking it enough to rattle the spools inside the cassette tape when Dean didn’t take it immediately.

“No,” Dean said simply, shaking his head for emphasis. “I don’t want it.”

“Dean, it has your name on it. I know it hurts, but…”

“You don’t know shit!” Dean yelled, snatching the tape from Sam’s hands. 

He didn’t want this. It belonged to Cas. It was a gift, the closest thing he’d ever given Cas to a love confession and taking it back meant Cas didn’t carry that love with him wherever he’d ended up. Cas needed to have it. Before Dean could think about it the tape was flying from his hand and dropping in the center of the smoldering embers. The heat destroyed it slowly as he watched. The label blackened quickly, the plastic bubbled as it melted, taking his love, warping it, twisting it until the remnants seemed to simply disappear as melted plastic mixed with ashes. A sob tore from his throat before he could quiet himself, and Sam’s hand fell to his shoulder again. He shrugged Sam off for a second time, burying his feelings and corking his tears, and he stalked off to collect Jack from the cottage.

“Get in the car, Sam,” he growled out before the door shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fairly certain people may not be cool with what I did to the mixtape. Stay with me and I'll try to fix it?
> 
> Comments are my fave. 
> 
> Again, point out typos if you see them.


	3. In Another's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean POV-Fic Gaps and Canon from 13x02
> 
> Dean is still not ok, duh. He goes someplace other than the bar the night Jack takes off for the alley. He reflects on his time with Cas and how much of Cas he sees in Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains some dialog straight from canon. Clearly, I don't own it, just using it for my own twisted purposes.
> 
> A few lyrics from the song that inspired the chapter title (taken completely out of context of the song, BTW)
> 
>  
> 
> _"Every time I look_  
>  _I'm seeing you_  
>  _In another's eyes"_

_In Another’s Eyes_

Dean sipped the top shelf whiskey in his tumbler, the splurge his little tip of the hat to the loss of his frenemy, Crowley. The amber liquid went down smooth and warmed him, but settled in his stomach in a way that made him uneasy. Usually this was how Dean coped, getting blackout drunk or finding a warm, willing body to sink into, but the idea of drunken debauchery wasn’t doing it for him tonight. It wasn’t Crowley, of course, that had him feeling like this, though he would miss the bastard. It was Cas. It was always Cas.

The bar was quiet, empty aside from himself and a moderately attractive barmaid, the perfect environment to silently drink until he felt nothing. Instead, he slowly sipped his drink and played with his phone, scrolling through articles and looking for anything in the area that raised a red flag. He could really use something to kill right about now. 

If it were up to him, he’d track down Jack and kill him just for existing, but Sam had shut him down and run after the nephilim, all the while telling Dean to “take a walk and cool down.” That’s how he ended up at the bar, nursing a single glass of whiskey and getting the most for his money. 

He’d driven for thirteen hours straight before Sam finally convinced him to stop for the night. Driving, he could do. It was mindlessly numbing to stare at the road with a destination in mind. He didn’t feel so lost when driving. At least he hadn’t until he glanced in the rear view mirror and saw Jack peacefully sleeping against the window, and it brought a memory flashing vividly to the forefront of his mind.

_Dean glanced into the backseat to watch Cas, head tipped back, sleeping against Baby’s backseat. He looked so peaceful and other-worldly beautiful in the flickers of streetlight that lit up the car every few seconds._

_“Aw, ain’t he a little angel?” Dean had said, just a hint of sarcasm creeping into his tone to cover his true feelings._

_Sam turned to looked at Cas. “Angel’s don’t sleep.” Sam replied, concerned._

_Dean glanced back again, his brows furrowing as his brother’s words panicked him more than he cared to admit. Before he could stop it, all thoughts of Cas’ beauty were replaced by the fear of what they were about to do. They had to face the devil himself. This was no time to be falling in love with an angel._

He’d been noticing it more and more as he kept a wary eye on Jack. So many little things he said or did, his mannerisms, the little things that made the kid smile. Even the way Jack had pulled an angel blade from his chest reminded him of the day he’d met Cas and immediately stabbed him. In both cases, the injuries did nothing. Dean would be lying to himself and everyone around him if he didn’t admit that the kid reminded him of Cas. Not that you’d hear him say it out loud.

Cas could watch television for hours, a content smile on his face as he watched everything from Game of Thrones to daytime talkshows. After they’d checked into the motel, Jack sat down and started watching Scooby Doo, wonder and enchantment etched on his features. Dean couldn’t handle the way it made his heart ache and he snatched the remote from Jack’s hand shutting the TV off and banishing him to the couch. The kid wasn’t hurting anyone, at least not outwardly, but Dean’s heart had ached at the resemblance, and that was enough to put Jack at arms length again. 

Then he’d watched Jack dig into a burger with such fervor and delight. Bite after bite, he barely stopped to chew and Dean was transported back to a time when the Horseman of Famine had taken over a small town, turning all of its citizens ravenous.

_Cas appeared in the passenger’s seat out of nowhere, the telltale sign of a crinkling fast food bag and the scent of grease filling the car and announcing his arrival._

_“Are you serious?” Dean asked as Cas took a massive bite of the burger._

_“These make me very happy,” Cas said, smiling enthusiastically around a mouthful of cheap meat._

_Dean rolled his eyes, albeit fondly since the angel so seldom looked so fucking happy, and asked, “How many is that?”_

_“Lost count. It’s in the low hundreds.”_

_Dean let out a low whistle and secretly wished he could put away food like the angel could. All that delicious grease, and no clogged arteries. He didn’t voice it aloud since he suspected Cas might just turn around and tell him that envy is one of the seven deadly sins or some other angelic shit._

_“What I don’t understand is, where’s your hunger, Dean?” Cas had asked._

_“Huh?”_

_Cas held his hands out as if gesturing to the entirety of the town. “Slowly but surely, everyone in this town is falling prey to Famine, but so far, you seem unaffected.”_

_“Hey, when I want a drink, I drink. When I want sex, I go get it. Same goes for a sandwich or a fight. so…” Dean shrugged._

_“So you’re saying you’re just well adjusted?”_

_“God, no. I’m just well fed,” Dean replied smugly, all the while feeling a pull of hunger toward his best friend that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He’d certainly believed he could be better fed if he could just taste Cas’ lips._

Earlier, when Dean had argued with Sam and Donatello while Jack was in the room, he’d even let “He’s not Cas,” slip into his list of things Jack wasn’t and would never be. He was still mildly grateful that Sam hadn’t mentioned the slip. Then Jack had teleported out of the room just as tensions were reaching a high, confirming that he did indeed have wings, and with them, Cas’ old tendency for poofing when things got rough.

Dean knocked back the rest of his drink and exchanged a few words with the barmaid before turning down a second drink and leaving the bar. He started to walk toward the motel, changing direction after a few steps and digging his keys out of his jacket pocket. He had a stop to make first.

Baby came to a stop outside off the shady home shop of the tattooist they’d fruitlessly visited earlier. Dean thumped his way up the steps to the small house not far from the outbuilding-cum-tattoo-shop and knocked heavily on the door. It was late, but well before midnight, and he’d hoped he could talk the guy into helping him out.

“Dean, right?” The greasy looking man asked as the door cracked open. He was still dressed, so that was a good sign.

“Yeah, hey man, I’d hate to do this, but I really need a piece done. It’s nothing too big. I can pay you double since it’s so late… just… I need it.”

A few minutes later, Dean had explained what he wanted was settling into the chair while the artist began to sketch up the design. 

“So, who was she, your mom or something?” the artist asked as his pencil moved across his drawing pad. 

Dean winced. He supposed he should be getting a piece for his mom as well, but honestly, he’d gone thirty-three years without her. He knew how to live with her absence. “He, actually.”

“He?” 

“Is that going to be a problem?” Dean asked, a challenge clear in the low growl of his voice.

“No, man. I don’t judge. Was he your boyfriend? Husband?” He didn’t look up from the sketch, the pencil continuing it’s scratching on the notepad as the design took shape.

Dean sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, nervously. What did it matter if he told this guy his secret? He’d never see him again. “He was my best friend. The only person I thought would always be there, you know. He wasn’t supposed to… he was supposed to… fuck. He should still be here.” Dean felt a heavy weight in his chest as he remembered one of the worst nights of his life. He’d almost killed Cas himself that night, but Cas fought for him so hard, he was willing to die rather than hurt Dean. 

_“Everyone you know, everyone you love, they’ll all be gone. Everyone except me.”_

It was the biggest lie Cas ever told him, a promise he couldn’t keep.

“He was more though, wasn’t he?” The artist had stood up, leaving the now finished design on the table. He began gathering supplies.

“He was… everything. Cas was everything.”

“You loved him,” It wasn’t a question.

“So much it ached every time I looked at him.”

“Did he love you?” the artist asked as he pulled a few bottles of ink off a shelf.

“I didn’t deserve him,” Dean answered, petulantly.

“That wasn’t the question.”

Dean thought about it for a few seconds. There were so many times he thought, maybe Cas did love him the same way Dean loved him. Times when Cas would look at him with the same hunger Dean laser-focused on him, but the moments would pass and the mission of the day would dominate their time once again. 

“Not sure,” Dean said, honestly. “He said he loved me once. But then he said that he loved my mom and my brother too and called us his family. I just… fuck, I think he might have, but we were both so stupid. We were wrapped up in our… jobs. Too busy. It was never the right time. Now, it’s too late.”

“How did he die?” the tattooist flipped his gun on to make sure it was hooked up correctly then turned it off again before walking over to Dean and gesturing to his pants so Dean could push them down.

“Accident. Couple nights ago,” he lied.

Conversation trailed off then and Dean adjusted in the chair, his pants undone and shoved low on his hips. Any lower and ‘little Dean’ would make an appearance, but the tattoo had to go someplace private. This wasn’t for Sam’s eyes and Dean didn’t want to answer any of his brother’s questions. 

“This is the awkward part,” The artist said, holding up a razor and a can of cheap shave gel. “You can do it, or I can. I might have to touch it up if you miss any though. The hairs can throw off the needle.”

“I’ll do it.” Dean took the shaving supplies and walked over to the sink before efficiently shaving all of the pubic hair from the edge his pushed-down waistband to his navel. He wiped himself clean with wet paper towels and returned to the chair.

“The stencil look ok?” The tattooist asked as he set up his needles and inks, and Dean mumbled an affirmative. “What color were you thinking?”

“I… shit, I don’t know. Not fluffy white. No way were they… would they be if he were… yeah, not white,” He’d never seen them. He had no idea what color they were. Cas had fought hard over thousands of years, gone through hellfire and back again, and fallen from Grace. His wings were sparse when he died. The scorched shadow of them had shown Dean that. It also made him think _black_ for some reason. Black would fit Cas. Then a flash of serious blue eyes the shade of brushed denim came to mind and Dean blurted out “Black and Blue.”

The tattoo gun buzzed, sending a chill of anxiety shuddering its way up Dean’s spine and a second later, the sharp sting of a vibrating needle bit into his skin to start the outline. The artist was quiet as he worked, leaving Dean to his own thoughts as the design was permanently carved into his skin. 

His thoughts inevitably returned to Cas. Dean’s eyes closed as he pictured the angel as he was in life, fierce and commanding one minute, soft and innocent and completely literal the next. He could see those blue eyes, how they lit up like a child’s marbles when the sun hit them. He could see how those hooded orbs would be hidden further still when Cas would tilt his head just so and squint in confusion. He could see the line of his straight nose, his sky-high cheekbones, those plush lips that always seemed to be begging to be kissed, every laugh line, every fleck of stubble on his jaw.

Jack kind of looked like Cas. It should be impossible, but he did. Jack’s blue eyes were slightly hooded, his jaw square, his chin with the ghost of a cleft, his nose straight and similar enough that anyone would believe Cas had fathered the boy. The lips were thinner, but when a certain expression clouded his face, it didn’t matter. His mannerisms, the way he’d tilt his head or how his brows would draw up in question… His willingness to learn and the curiosity he had for everything around him… Jack could make Dean’s heart clench with how much he resembled Cas in looks and personality, and Dean hated him for it. This thing, this fathered-by-the-devil-himself creature that had caused Cas’ death didn’t deserve to be so much like him, and he would _never_ take Cas’ place.

“Ok, I’m done. Take a look,” the artist announced, pulling Dean back to the present. It hadn’t felt long enough, but when his mind wandered to Cas, Dean could lose hours.

He pushed himself out of the chair and looked in the mirror. There, poised right between his hips was a pair of blue-black wings and a banner stretched across them inscribed with a single, boldly inked word: ‘Castiel.’ It was permanent, and for just a moment Dean panicked. What would future lovers think? What would Sam think if he ever saw it? Dean turned a little, studying the work, noticing the fine shading on every feather and the beautiful font of Cas’ name, and he decided it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. 

Castiel had been the love of his life, and now he’s gone, nothing but ink etched into Dean’s skin now. Dean hadn’t even kept anything this time. Not the trench coat like he did years ago, not the truck, he’d even tossed the only gift he’d ever given Cas right into the pyre along side the angel’s ashes. Dean choked back tears before they could fall and turned back to have the tattoo wrapped.

“It’s good?” the artist asked as he applied a bit of ointment and began to bandage the tattoo.

“Yeah, it’s perfect. Thanks.”

Dean drove around after that. He supposed he should sleep, but his mind was racing and a living reminder of the man he loved was probably back at the motel by now. He’d go back when he was too tired to think any longer.

When did finally get back to the room, he figured he’d be able to slip in and go to sleep without questions or _looks_ from Sam, but no such luck. His brother was sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting up like the father of a teenage girl out on her first date.

“Where’s Jack?” Dean asked.

“With Donatello. Where were you, Dean? I’ve been calling.” Sam asked accusingly.

“Out. Turned my ringer off,” Dean snapped, stripping off his outer layers until he was left in a tee shirt and boxers to sleep in.

“Dean, with everything that’s going on…”

“Save it, Sam. I needed to get out. I had a drink, drove around, got lost in my head a little and now I’m back. Go to sleep.” Dean slipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth and take the bandage off his new ink. He washed it as directed and studied it in the mirror. Even with Castiel’s name in reverse in the mirror, it was the perfect tribute. Cas’ wings, spread wide and full like the day they’d met. 

Dean would never forget that day as long as he lived. The unbridled power and calm beauty of the being that strode into that barn as lights exploded and sparks rained down around him. Dean has been enthralled by Castiel from first glance. He feared him, but felt an unmistakable draw to him all at once. Cas had pulled him from hell, simultaneously saving and upending his life, leaving behind a different Dean than the man who had gone to hell.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Dean let tears fall. He didn’t sob, in fact he made no noise at all, just let fat tears slip from his eyes to glide down his cheek to fall onto the floor below. He allowed himself this indulgence for a few minutes before wiping the wetness away and putting his mask back on as best he could. He applied a thin layer of the prescribed ointment to the fresh ink and pulled his boxers back up to cover the tattoo. When he slipped out of the bathroom, the room was dark and Sam was quiet and still under the covers of his bed.

Dean laid in his own bed, eyes heavy, listening to the soft snuffling snores of his brother. After so many years of sharing shady motel rooms, Dean could tell when Sam was just pretending to sleep, and when he was really out, and Dean knew he was, for all intents and purposes, alone right now. 

“Chuck,” Dean whispered as softly as possible while listening for any change in Sam’s breathing. “If you’re listening, you’re probably sick of me, but please. All I asked was for you to let me know Cas is ok. I’m still waiting for that sign. Anytime now,” Dean sighed, exhausted by the lack or response. “Same time tomorrow, then Chuck?” He laid in silence, waiting in case God decided to show himself, then flipped onto his side and fell into a broken, fitful sleep. 

He woke only a couple hours later when a nightmare had him shooting up in a panic. It was dark in the dream, nothing but endless darkness. Dean was walking for what seemed like hours, never once coming in contact with another being, never seeing even a pinpoint of light. It was silent as the grave, nothing but the sound of his boots on what he could only assume was solid ground beneath him. He couldn’t see it or even feel it, but he was walking, steps sounding, echoing out into the utter nothingness that surrounded him. Finally, after what seemed likes days, he tripped over something solid and crashed to the ground. When he turned to see what it was, the crisp tan of a trench coat caught his attention first. Then he could tell it was Cas, still and lying face down on the ground, hands splayed. He looked peaceful, almost as if he was asleep, but then the sudden realization washed over Dean that Cas was dead. This was where Cas was now, surrounded by bleak, dark nothing. 

It was that dream-thought that had woken Dean, leaving him shaking and sweating, his chest heaving. He felt nauseous. What if this was Chuck’s sign for Dean. Was the peaceful sleep supposed to make Dean feel better about Cas’ fate when he was surrounded by darkness? That’s not what he wanted for Cas. He wanted his angel back in heaven where he belonged, and he had prayed he’d be able to join him there someday, maybe sooner than later if he was lucky. 

Dean rolled out of the bed and started his day before the sun had risen. There was no way he’d be able to fall asleep again. He showered quickly and took care of his tattoo before dressing and leaving a still sleeping Sam in bed while he went in search of some fresh air. He walked around a bit before stopping to bring back breakfast as a peace offering and returned to the room to find Sam up, dressed and sitting at the table. Jack still wasn’t back, much to Dean’s relief. 

“Hey,” Sam said, seemingly over their little tiff from the night before. 

“Hey. We should probably hit it,” Dean replied, setting breakfast down on the table and taking a seat across from his brother.

“Uh, I was just gonna call you, actually. Um, look… we’re gonna be on the road a long time today, right?”

“Yeah. Well, you know, we don’t have to be ‘cause your new pal could just zap us back to the bunker like that,” Dean said sarcastically with a snap of his fingers.

“Point is,” Sam sighed. “If you and I are gonna do this, keep Jack on the right side of things, then we have to be on the same page.”

“Okay. Well, that’s the problem, though, Sam, ‘cause we’re not on the same page. Like, at all.”

“All right. You know what? I know what’s going on here,” Sam said, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Oh. Okay. Well, please, tell me, what’s going on here?” Dean asked, unable to keep anger from creeping into his tone.

“You thinking mom is gone and Cas is gone, and that Jack can’t be saved,” Sam sighed. “Dean, after everything we’ve gone through… We just lost people we love, people who have been in our lives for a long time. Everything’s upside-down. I get it. But we’ve been down before. I mean, rock bottom. And we find a way.  
We fix it because that’s what we do. And Jack wants to do the right thing. Jack’s scared to death of who he is, and he’s scared of you.”

Dean’s stare turned colder and less feeling with each word that fell from Sam’s lips. How dare he talk about everything that they’ve gone through as if this time is no worse? How can he be so unfeeling to not even see how much Dean was hurting, how much Cas’ death had ripped out his heart? Dean was walking around, absolutely gutted, sharing space with a creature that reminded him of the dead love of his life, and Sam honestly thought he could sit there and pretend that this time wasn’t different.

None of those times were Dean’s rock bottom.

This was.

Dean wasn’t able to talk about it with his brother, even if he had wanted to, because right then, Donatello came through the door, and a search for Jack began. They disposed of demons and were confronted by the Prince of Hell, Asmodeus, and for a brief moment in time, Dean had a mission. He was on the job and his brain was blissfully silent. 

It wasn’t until many hours later, after Jack scared Asmodeus off and they were back in the bunker that Dean let himself feel again. He remembered how Jack had screamed, “You’re hurting my friends,” and powered on to protect them, and for just a second, he felt a tug of affection for the nephilim. He shook it off fairly quickly, only for it to return soon after when he found the boy standing in his newly appointed bedroom, stabbing himself over and over, confused and scared and wondering if he was a monster. Dean’s heart had clenched at the sight of Jack standing there, bloody gashes on his shirt, wounds healing as quickly as they were inflicted. 

The self sacrifice, the protectiveness, it was all Cas coming through again, and Dean just couldn’t take it. He disarmed Jack, threatened to kill him for good measure, then locked himself in his room for the rest of the night. 

He prayed again, begging Chuck to let him know if Cas was at peace, asking once more to let Dean be with him again after his own death. Begging for a sign. 

And he dreamed once more of nothing but endless darkness and an eternally sleeping Cas.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

Dean's tattoo, right in the vee of his groin ;)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/154904542@N05/38825407445/in/dateposted-public/)


	4. One Night A Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean POV
> 
> 13x03/post 13X03
> 
> Still pretty painful, I'm afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title inspired by this Garth Brooks song.
> 
> One Night A Day
> 
> There's not a lot of things to do  
> I wouldn't rather do with you  
> Guess I'm funny that way 
> 
> Lately I just sit and stare  
> I talk to people who aren't there  
> To get through one night a day  
> One night a day  
> One step away 
> 
> From leavin' you behind  
> I sit up with the radio  
> Sing along with the ones I know  
> To get through one night a day  
> One night a day  
> One step away 
> 
> From leavin' you behind  
> I'm callin' every friend I've had  
> Wake 'em up, and make 'em mad  
> Let 'em know that I'm OK  
> I used to sit and talk to you  
> They're all just a substitute  
> To get through one night a day  
> One night a day  
> One step away 
> 
> From leavin' you behind  
> I stay up with the late, late show  
> Just another way I know  
> To get through one night a day  
> To get through one night a day

Chapter 3

_One Night A Day_

Dean was walking toward the war room, groggy from his poor night’s sleep, when he heard voices drifting down the hall. He crept close enough to hear, but leaned against the wall and stayed back far enough to remain hidden.

“I-I’m glad you called, Sam.” Claire’s voice on Skype sounded sad, a little distant, and then she sniffled as if she had been crying. Dean’s guilt washed over him as his heart clenched painfully. He should have been the one to make this call. He had more of a bond with Claire than Sam did, and yet, it hadn’t even crossed his mind to pick up the phone and call her. He’d been too wrapped up in his own grief to even spare a thought for her. He was such an asshole.

“Yeah, I mean, I know he wasn’t your dad or anything, but he cared about you. He felt responsible for you, you know? He would have wanted us to let you know,” Sam said softly. 

“How’s Dean doing?” Claire asked, too observant for her own good. 

“He uh… It’s hard to tell with him. You know that. I don’t think he’s doing too great, but I mean, he’s not really drinking like the last time we lost Cas and that’s how he usually deals when he can’t cope, so I guess he’s making do. We haven’t had much time to stop, really, so who knows?” Sam sighed, at a loss. “I mean, we lost a lot of people in a short amount of time. Eileen, then Rowena, and then Crowley and Cas back too back, and Mom was trapped. Everyone was just gone. Dean thinks Mom’s dead, but I have to hold on to hope, you know? But, I guess being ok is out of the question. But we’re going to take some time, figure out what to do with Jack,” Sam trailed off, unsure of what to say or even how to feel. He had no idea how Dean really was. “I guess the short answer is, angry. Dean’s angry and he won’t talk about it.”

“Of course he’s angry,” Claire said thoughtfully, all the wisdom of experience making itself evident. The orphaned girl knew plenty about loss. “It’s one of the stages of grief. He feels angry and abandoned. Let me guess, he’s already started trying to bargain with God?”

Sam sighed, “I know he prayed once, and he only told me about it because I pushed him not to burn Cas’ body. I thought maybe we could find a way to bring him back. I suggested praying and he said he’d already tried.”

Claire sniffled again. “Poor Dean,” she said softly.

“Just poor Dean?” Sam asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

“Sam, I know you lost your friend, and your mom is in some dusty alternate universe, but you have hope that she’s still alive. But Dean…he thinks she’s dead, and he lost Cas. He watched him die. He prepared Cas’ body himself and watched it burn. You told me yourself that he sat there for hours by Cas’ side. God won’t answer him. He probably has no faith left. So yeah, Sam, ‘poor Dean.’”

“Cas was my friend too, Claire!” Sam said, barely above a whisper.

“Oh my God, you’re so dense,” Claire said, and Dean could practically hear her eyes roll through the phone. “It’s different for him.”

“Yeah, I know. I was already reminded of their ‘profound bond’ once, but I cared about Cas too! It hurts for me too! But I have to hold it together for Dean because he looks like he could break at any moment! I’m afraid he’s going to do something stupid,” Sam sighed again, willing himself to calm down and stop getting angry at Claire when all she was doing was being truthful. “I’m not blind. I know they were closer fiends than Cas and I were. Hell, half the time I wondered if they were closer than Dean and I am. Cas was Dean’s best friend. I get that. But I have to get his head back in the game so we can find Mom.”

Claire sighed dramatically. “You’ll figure it out eventually,” she said, and Dean knew Sam would take it at face value. Sam probably thought Claire had meant that Sam would figure out a way to get Dean’s ‘head back in the game.’ Dean, however, had heard, ‘You’ll figure out how in love with Cas your hopeless brother was.’ For some reason, it warmed him to know that Claire had noticed. Maybe Cas had known too, because living with the regret of never telling him was eating Dean up inside. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Sam said. “Call us if you need us, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah, if I need a couple of old guys to come save me, you’ll be the first old guys I call. Tell Dean I said hi, and that I’m sorry, ok?”

“You got it,” Sam said before hanging up.

Dean stood there, frozen in his spot. Maybe he should tell Sam how he felt about Cas so his brother could understand what he was going through.The thought of pouring his heart out like that made bile threaten to rise up and make an appearance, so instead, Dean slipped quietly back down the hall and locked himself back in his room.

Still tired from a lack of sleep, he tried to nap, and fell into a restless sleep in which he found himself back in the same eternally black space all his dreams ended up since Cas died.

_He found Cas faster this time than the times before and sunk down on his knees next to the angel, reaching out to stroke his dark hair. It was soft and silky, and he buried his fingers in it indulgently._

_Cas was still in the same position as the other dreams, lying on his stomach, face turned to the side, all the lines on his face softened with what appeared to be a peaceful sleep. Dean’s dream self let his fingers drift over Cas’ cheek, and he was surprised to feel warmth there. He had thought Cas would feel stiff and cold. The warmth encouraged Dean to keep exploring, running fingertips over the rough stubble on Cas’ chin, then a thumb over Cas’ full lips. They were softer than they looked. God, how he wished he’d been able to kiss those lips just once, but not now, not like this. His hand ran over Cas’ shoulder, firm, even under all his layers, then down his arm. Reaching Cas’ hand, he took it into his own and held it. It was limp and didn’t grasp back, but it was warm enough to give Dean hope. Maybe Cas wasn’t dead, maybe he was just… sleeping. Maybe he could get him back. If he could just wake him._

_“Cas,” Dean said, squeezing Cas’ hand._

_“No, no, no,” An eerie voice taunted, echoing in the nothingness, and Dean dropped Cas’ hand and stood up to look around for the source. He saw nothing, but the voice spoke again. “He’s not coming back to you. He doesn’t want you, Dean. He wants to sleep. Look how peaceful he is lying there. He's been through a lot. He deserves this nap. Leave him Dean. You used him, let him die over and over again. You threw him out when he was human. He was vulnerable and weak. He needed you and you turned him away. Do you know how he sat in the rain, no where to go? How that reaper preyed on him because he was cold, wet and hungry? You could have saved him from that, but you sent him back to that life. And you watched, didn’t you, when Lucifer killed him. You did nothing to stop it. He died because of you. He’s tired, Dean, and he’ll never feel the same way you do. Just let him go. Let him sleep.”_

Dean shot up in bed, sweat dripping from his skin and breath heaving as the dream started to fade back into reality. “Just a dream,” Dean whispered to himself. “Just a fucking dream… right, Chuck, you fucker?” He was suddenly casting his eyes upward, once again looking for guidance. “Get your ass down here and tell me it’s just a dream! You wouldn’t do that to him!”

Dean swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stood, running a hand through his short hair. He glanced at the clock on his single nightstand, remembering the time he’d moved a second nightstand into his room, hopefully. For a moment a couple years back, he’d entertained the idea of telling Cas everything and moving the angel into his space, but as usual, the world needed saving and he’d put it off again. Cas had his own room in the bunker instead, a room Dean hadn’t dared to enter since they got back from North Cove.

He moved, without thought, down the hallway, the numbers on the doors descending until he was standing outside the closed door of room number 15. His hand came to rest on the doorknob and he drew a deep breath into his lungs and released it before turning the knob and stepping into the room.

Shutting the door behind him quietly, Dean flipped on a single lamp, illuminating the empty room. Cas hadn’t had many belongings, almost nothing, really. He had the clothes on his back, a cell phone, a few fake IDs and a mixtape, the only gift he’d ever received. All of those things were either on him, or in his truck when he died. Still, Dean looked through the entire room, opening empty drawers and a barren closet. He was on a mission to find something, anything the angel may have left behind to remind Dean of him. Frustrated when he came up empty handed, Dean sunk down on the bed. He picked up the pillow and breathed in deep, wishing he could smell Cas clinging to the fabric, but all he smelled was the fresh scent of detergent. Cas didn’t sleep.

He didn’t sleep. He didn’t store anything here. In the end, he hadn’t needed a room at all.

Dean choked back a sob. Cas was gone, and there wasn’t the slightest trace of him left behind. The one thing Dean had been offered, he’d throw into the glowing embers with Cas’ ashes. It was gone. It was all gone.

Dropping the pillow back on the bed, Dean stood and took a double take when he saw the tip of something black sticking out from under Cas’ dresser. He sucked in a breath and walked over, squatting down and pulling a single feather out from underneath the piece of furniture. It was about a foot long, thick and full and so, so soft as Dean ran his fingertips over it. He held in under the light of the lamp, turning it this way and that, watching as it shimmered blue when the light hit it just so. He ran a hand over the tattoo on his groin. He had been right. How had he been right? He brought the feather to his face, running it’s softness over his cheek, listening to the barbs catch on the rough stubble of his chin. He brought it to his nose, breathing it in and catching the scent of pure, concentrated Cas clinging to the feather. It smelled like clean air in springtime and fresh cotton with a hint of something earthy and non-distinct. 

Dean left the room, shutting the door securely behind him and walking with soft, quiet steps, returned to his own room, stashing the feather in the drawer of his nightstand. It was all he had left now. 

He went to the kitchen and filled his arms with as many beers as he could carry without dropping them. Sam said he wasn’t coping the way he normally was. May as well start now. He stood them all up on his nightstand and pulled out his laptop, settling on the bed and popping the first bottle cap as the computer booted up.

He sat there for a while, with iTunes open, drinking and recreating the playlist from the mixtape he’d given Cas all those weeks before. He could still see the hopeful look on the angel’s face when Dean had handed it to him and the broken-hearted frown as he’d tried to hand it back when they fought weeks later. It was the most meaningful gift Dean had ever given and the closest he’d ever come to telling Cas that he loved him. 

When the playlist was completed, he cracked open the third beer and plugged in his headphones, letting Kashmir play while he continued to drink. He stared off in the distance and listened. 

Eight beers and thirteen songs later, Dean was shutting the laptop and shoving it away from himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something and figured he should attempt to make an appearance before Sam came looking for him.

Jack was in the kitchen when he got there. The nephilim pulled a plate out of the microwave and sat down at the little table, biting into a steaming burrito while Dean watched warily. 

All he could see was Cas, sitting in the war room in a grubby hoodie, a few days growth on his jaw, looking completely disheveled after a shower and eating an almost identical burrito to the one Jack was currently eating. It was right before he’d thrown Cas out of the bunker. Cas had barely finished chewing a bite when Dean had said the words, _You can’t stay._

The very moment that disembodied voice taunted him about in his dream.

He grabbed another beer, and left the room as quick as his feet could carry him. He needed to get away from Satan’s spawn. He couldn’t spend one more second with the kid, walking around, acting like Cas, looking like Cas, serving no purpose other than to remind Dean of Cas. 

He would never be Cas.

When he reached the library and Sam told him Missouri had called with a case, he hadn’t even hesitated. He needed out, and he had the excuse he needed to head out and kill something… to get away from Jack.

It started to go to hell fairly quickly. Missouri was killed. What else was new? Just someone else to add to the list of people he couldn’t save. He didn’t expect that list to stop growing anytime soon. It didn’t matter that in the end the wraith was disposed of and James and Patience walked away safe and sound. Missouri was dead and nothing would change that. 

He was a fuck up.

Dean drove back to the bunker, his was mood dark and stormy and he could feel the itch for a fight roiling around under his skin. He wasn’t ready to go back and face Sam, to deal with seeing Jack again. When he arrived at the bunker and saw Sam waiting for him at his laptop, Dean could feel something pull taut inside himself, like a rubber band, ready to snap. All he needed was a little push.

“How was it? Uh, Jody told me about Missouri.” Sam asked.

“Yeah, just another day at the office. How’s the kid? He go dark side yet?” Dean couldn’t help the hint of disdain that crept into his voice when he spoke of Jack.

“Nope. He is uh, he’s pretty messed up though,” Sam replied, turning in his chair to look at Dean.

“You’re telling me.”

“No, Dean. He’s messed up because of you. Dean, you said you’d kill him,” Sam accused.

“It wasn’t exactly like that.” It was. Dean knew it no matter how he tried to deny it.

“Then how exactly was it?” Sam asked.

“I told him the truth. See, you think you can use this freak but I know how this ends and it ends bad.” Dean could feel his anger building, threatening to come to a head.

“I didn’t,” Sam spat, his own anger evident in his voice.

“What?”

“I didn’t ‘end bad,’” Sam said, his voice impatient and his finger crooked into actual air quotes as he walked towards Dean. “When I was the freak, when I was drinking demon blood.”

“Come on man, that’s totally different.”

“Was it? Because you could’ve put a bullet in me. Dad told you to put a bullet in me, but you didn’t! You saved me! So help me save him!” Sam pleaded.

Dean saw red. How could Sam compare himself to Lucifer’s kid? It was all this kid’s fault Cas was gone, and Sam was acting like he was little orphan Annie. “You deserved to be saved, he doesn’t!”

“Yes he does, Dean, of course he does!”

“Look, I know you think that you can use him as some sort of an inter-dimensional can-opener and that’s fine, but don’t act like you care about him! Because you only care about what he can do for you! So if you want to pretend, that’s fine! But me? I can hardly look at the kid! Because when I do all I see is everybody we’ve lost!” _All I see is Cas…_

“Mom chose to take that shot at Lucifer. That is not on Jack!”

Of course, Sam still didn’t get it. Claire had been right, his brother was so dense. Dean felt that taut rubber band inside himself pulling tighter still.

“And what about Cas?” Dean asked.

“What about Cas?”

_Seriously? What about Cas?_ The band snapped. 

“He manipulated him, he made him promises, said, ‘paradise on earth’ and Cas bought it and you know what that got him? It got him dead! Now you might be able to forget about that, but I can’t!” The last words were screamed in desperation, and Dean could see the moment Sam finally understood. 

Dean stood there for a moment, looking at his brother, seeing the realization dawn on his features, softening them the slightest as it all sunk in. _That’s right, brother, I was in love with the angel,_ Dean thought before turning away to hide in his room again. It was fine that Sam knew. Good, even. But Dean wasn’t ready for the talk he knew would be coming. 

He passed Jack, who was standing right outside the door, and kept walking without even looking at the kid. He didn’t know how long he had been there, nor did he give a shit. 

He dropped his duffle on the floor, uncaring about if or when it got unpacked, and stripped down to his tee shirt and boxers before climbing into bed. He stared at the ceiling for a while, listening for footsteps in the hallway or a knock on his door, the request from Sam to ‘talk about it,’ but his brother wisely left him alone. After what felt like hours, he finally drifted off to sleep. 

The dream came. 

_He stood in his room as the darkness filtered in around him, nothing to see or hear. His instincts drew him in the same direction as always, pulling him towards where he knew Cas’ still form lies on the ground. He walked and walked, searching for Cas. He found nothing, hears nothing, not even the strange, disembodied voice from before. Panic began to well up inside him. Where has Cas gone? Why couldn’t he find him this time? All he wanted to do is settle in next to him and touch him again. He wanted to run his fingers through the angel’s hair and drag a thumb across his lips and dwell on all his regret. It was all he had left now._

_“Cas!” his dream self called out, his voice echoing and oddly distant._

_He kept walking, his feet loud on the invisible ground. He may have gone to sleep half naked, but his dream self was dressed, heavy boots pounding beneath him as he moved faster, trying to find Cas and coming up empty._

_“Cas!” he called again, and he cringed at the high pitched dread creeping into his voice now. He knew he was being ridiculous. This was a dream. Just a dream. Cas wasn’t really here, and even if he was, he wasn’t conscious… wasn’t alive._

_Cas is dead._

_Dean stopped and sunk down to his knees. He wanted the dreams to stop. He couldn’t keep doing this. He was holding onto this too hard and his subconscious kept bringing him here to torture him._

_Cas is gone. He’s not coming back._

_He stood, willing himself to wake up and get out of this place._

_“Come on, come on,” he pleaded to himself in a whisper. “Wake up, you fucker.”_

_Nothing happened. Dean spun around, looking at the darkness that surrounded him. He wasn’t waking. Cas wasn’t here. Nothing left to do, Dean’s feet carried him once more, and Dean waited anxiously for the moment he would trip over Cas’ prone form._

_“Hello?” A voice called out suddenly._

_Cas’ voice._

_“Cas,” Dean whispered, unable to get his voice to work properly. It was too jarring to hear Cas again. He choked back a sob._

_“Hello?” Cas was louder that time, and he sounded frightened. Dean imagined it would be terrifying to wake up in this place. It had been when he’d first come here in his dreams._

_“Hello?”_

_Cas sounded downright panicked, and Dean started walking toward the voice._

_Hello?”_

_The voice is closer. Dean broke into a run, his feet carrying him as fast as they could. A flash of khaki catches his attention. Cas is standing there, his back to him. Dean opens his mouth to call out to him…_

Dean was sweating when he shot up in bed. His breath was coming in shallow, rapid heaves and his legs were quivering with exertion as if he’d actually been running. It had felt so real, so vivid. He could still hear the raspy panic in Cas’ voice, feel the overwhelming joy that had warmed him when he’d caught a glimpse of the angel standing there, seeming so fucking alive.

“Goddamn it, Chuck! I want some fucking answers! What does this mean, you son of a bitch?” Dean growled at his ceiling as if looking upward would actually put him in touch with Heaven. He waited a minute before giving up. He could talk himself blue and Chuck wouldn’t answer. Chuck didn’t care. 

He opened the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out the feather he’d found a couple days earlier. He held it up to his nose and breathed it in again, committing Cas’ scent to memory.

“See you in my dreams, Cas,” he whispered to his empty room before tucking the feather safely back in its drawer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a tentative chapter count. There's a couple chapters I've outlined that could end up being two chapters, but 14 is a pretty good guess. Also, there WILL be timestamps for this story, so subscribe if you think you'll want to see more from this.
> 
> As always, comments are encouraged. They really, really do help motivate me to write.


	5. More Than a Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter so soon? I have no idea how.
> 
> Still Dean's POV, but the next chapter won't be.
> 
> Takes place during/after 13x04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song, More Than a Memory.
> 
> Selected lyrics that fit the fic:
> 
> Cause when you're talking out loud but nobody's there  
> You look like hell and you just don't care  
> Drinking more than you ever drank  
> Sinking down lower than you ever sank  
> When you find yourself falling down upon your knees  
> Praying to God, begging Him "please"  
> that's when (s)he's more than a memory  
> .  
> .  
> When you're finding things to do not to fall asleep  
> Cause you know (s)he's waiting in your dreams  
> That's when (s)he's more than a memory

_More Than a Memory_

Dean sat in Baby, Sam by his side and Jack in the backseat, sitting calmly looking out the window where Cas had sat so many times before him. They were getting ready to leave Madison, Wisconsin to start the ten hour drive back to the bunker, but Dean couldn’t shake off Mia and what she did for her patients. She’d helped Jack. Dean wondered if she could help him as well. 

“Are we going, or?” Sam asked cautiously.

Dean hadn’t started the engine yet, and he wondered how long Sam had been sitting there waiting for him to pull it together. “Yeah,” Dean grumbled, turning the key and listening to the deep rumble of the Impala’s engine.

A minute passed with Dean staring straight ahead out the windshield. 

“Dean?” Sam urged.

“No. I have to… I just need…” Dean trailed off, wiping a hand over his face. “I…”

“I’ll take the kid to get some food,” Sam offered, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder and frowning when Dean flinched at the contact. “You do whatever it is you need to do and call me when you’re done.” 

Dean drew in a ragged breath, releasing it slowly and nodding. When had Sam gotten so damned observant? One day he was utterly clueless, the next he was bending over backward to make sure Dean was ok. 

“Yeah, yeah ok.” He didn’t make eye contact with Sam, just opened the creaky door and slid out of the car. He stood on the sidewalk in front of Mia’s house, staring at the front door for minutes after Sam had taken the wheel and steered Baby on down the road. Finally, he convinced his feet to move and they carried him down the walk and up the steps of Mia’s porch and before he could stop himself, he was knocking on the door. 

“Dean,” Mia said softly. “I saw you out here. I was wondering how long it would take for you to knock.”

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he lied. 

“Yes you do, Dean. Come in.” Mia took a step back, holding the door open so he could step into the house. 

He followed her back into the room they had had their “therapy session” in before, the soothing neutral tones, the understated art and potted ferns and orchids calming him the way they were intended to. He hovered near the white leather couch, unsure of what to do with himself. He wasn’t sure if he should lower himself onto the boxy, stylish, though entirely uncomfortable piece of furniture or remain standing. Stay or run back out the door. 

“This was stupid,” he grumbled.

“Dean, tell me who you lost,” Mia said calmly, sitting in her chair and waving a hand to the couch to urge him to sink down onto it. “Jack lost his mother, and from Sam’s reaction earlier, you lost yours too… but there’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“How did you…”

“I’ve done this for a long time, Dean. You’ve accepted your mother’s loss. There’s issues there for sure, but that’s not what has you so angry, is it? Who was it? You can tell me, Dean. This is a safe space.”

Dean scoffed. “Just stop with the analysis and I’ll tell you, Doc,” he said as he sank back into his seat and allowed himself to have this.

“Fair enough,” Mia said, leaving her chair and moving to sit next to Dean as an equal as she had done with Jack. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out a way to ask for what he wanted. “He was my… best friend?” He couldn’t help the way his voice pitched itself into a question at the end. 

“Is that a statement or a question?” Mia asked.

“I don’t know. Both. He _was_ my best friend,” Dean said firmly this time.

“But he was also more?”

Not aswering, Dean pulled his phone out and scrolled though his pictures, finding the best one he could. It was taken months before while they were in L.A. looking for Lucifer, back before Kelly had gotten pregnant and it seemed Lucifer was nothing but a petulant child burning through vessels and causing chaos and destruction because he was mad at his daddy.

He remembered the moment all too well. 

_“At least I don’t look like a lumberjack,”_ Cas had said, and it made something inside of Dean want to impress the angel. He’d gone out and picked up the sexiest, form fitting, black leather jacket he could find and the next time he saw Cas, he noticed those blue eyes rake over his form briefly before pulling it together and getting back to the mission at hand. Dean couldn’t even remember what made him ask Sam to take a picture, or how they even had time for such trivial matters, but Dean had wanted a memento of the occasion. He’d pulled Cas to stand with him and they leaned back against Baby’s hood, Dean’s arm draped loosely over Cas’s shoulders. The holy tax accountant and the man formerly known as the lumberjack. 

Sam had said, _“Smile,”_ and when Cas’ expression didn’t change in the slightest, Sam said, _“Think of the bees!”_ and Cas couldn’t hold back a little chuckle, resulting in the crooked half smile that Dean was now looking down at on his phone screen.

God, he was beautiful.

Dean handed his phone over to Mia and she took it tentatively. “That’s Cas… Castiel,” he said as if it explained everything.

“That’s an unusual name,” Mia mused.

“It’s… uh… it’s angelic. He was an angel,” Dean said. Who was Mia to judge? The woman took on others’ forms and shed her skin when it was all over. Angels could almost seem tame if you don’t actually know any.

“He was handsome,” Mia said, handing the phone back. If she was surprised that Cas had been an angel, it didn’t show.

“Yeah. Yeah, he was. He was fucking beautiful. He had these blue eyes. I’ve never seen anything quite like them, not bright like you think when someone says they have blue eyes. They were dark… stormy.” Dean smiled for just a second, but it was fleeting when he realized he was there because he would never see Cas again., never look into those eyes. He was there for closure, to say goodbye and try to let go. 

“I uh… here’s his voice.” He pressed call under Cas’ contact information and the call went to voicemail.

_“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice, a mail._

Dean’s mouth quirked up on one side as the ridiculous message played. Almost a decade on earth and Cas still didn’t get simple things like recording a normal outgoing voicemail message. 

“You want me to transform?” Mia asked, making sure it was what Dean was requesting.

He nodded. “Yeah. But, I mean…the clothes. They’re important.”

“I can do it,” Mia stated. “Close your eyes. I’ll be right back.”

Dean sat on the couch, eyes closed tightly and his breathing rapid and shallow. His heart was beating out of his chest and for a moment, he considered fleeing. He wrung his hands together, unsure what else to do with them while he waited. A minute passed, maybe two, and Dean felt a large, strong hand squeeze his left shoulder. He gasped. He hadn’t told Mia, but it was always the shoulder Cas reached for, the one that had been marked with Cas’ handprint for a significant amount of time, from the moment they met, up until Cas had healed him in Stull Cemetery, taking the scar with the rest of his cuts and bruises. That hand, in that spot… it almost felt real.

“Open your eyes, Dean”

Dean gasped again from the surprise of hearing Cas’ gravelly voice again, not the recording he’d listened to too many times to count in the past two weeks, but alive and real and so close. He opened his eyes, the view in front of him, a crisp white shirt, tucked into navy blue slacks, the flash of a belt buckle, the end of a striped tie, all framed by an open, wrinkled tan trench coat. It was perfect, and he wondered if the effect would be just as perfect if Dean forced himself to meet his eyes.

“Look at me, Dean,” Cas’ voice rumbled again, and Dean swallowed thickly.

“Can you… can you say, ‘Hello, Dean?’” he choked out. It would break him, he knew that, but he needed it for this all to feel real enough to do what he came here to do.

Slim, fingers, elegant and masculine at the same time, tipped his chin up, urging Dean to his feet, and Dean allowed it, standing and shutting his eyes until he finally heard, “Hello, Dean.”

The delivery was perfect and Dean felt the telltale tickle of tears forming in his eyes. He blinked them away and finally, finally met those blue eyes. 

Perfect. 

It was no longer Mia standing there wearing Cas, but it was Cas from the deliberately tousled hair on his head down to the frumpy black dress boots on his feet. It was Cas looking back at him, brows furrowed, squint in place, and Dean reached out, allowed himself to touch for the first time.

It was nothing more than a graze of fingertips at first, tracing down Cas’ arm and skimming the tan, polyester blend sleeve. Cas’ eyes just watched him curiously as he stood still, letting Dean do what he needed to do.

“Cas,” Dean whispered as a second hand joined the first in its exploration, pushing its way under the coat and suit to rest on a warm hip. His eyes flicked up to Cas’ again to find the angel still watching him intently. Dean swallowed, his nerves causing his movements to become stilted, unsure. He pressed his forehead against Cas’ and their breath mingled. Both hands had found their way to Cas’ hips now and Dean held him in place, pulled him a little closer, just enjoying the warmth and feel of him under his touch.

“Cas,” Dean whispered again. It was pleading, almost a prayer, a request for permission. 

“Whatever you need, Dean,” Cas’ voice was soft and rough all at once as it rumbled against Dean’s ear, sending a shiver up the hunter’s spine.

“Can I kiss you, Cas?” Dean asked, and permission was given in the form of a hand cupping his cheek to draw him closer. Their lips touched, the faintest ghost of a kiss, and Dean’s hands moved once more, snaking their way around Cas’ neck, fingers threading into that dark mess of silky hair he’d always longed to touch. He drew them together again, his lips pressing more firmly this time and Cas made a pretty little noise, opening up for him. Dean pushed forward, deepening the kiss, letting his tongue run over the angel’s lower lip before sucking it lightly. 

The kiss broke and Dean looked into those eyes again, memorizing every little fleck of shade variation in the deep blue irises. He’s never been quite this close, and definitely not when he was allowed to really look, to drink him in. He cupped Cas’ cheek, running a thumb over a sharp, high cheekbone. Cas was looking back at him, lips parted, eyes soft, and Dean couldn’t help himself.

“I love you, Cas,” he whispered against the angel’s lips before capturing them in another sweet kiss.

“I love you too, Dean,” Cas said as they parted. 

Dean pulled Cas against himself, slotting a knee between Cas' thighs so they had something press against as Dean kissed him again with more urgency. His mind was completely clouded now, Mia wasn’t here anymore. Everything was Cas… Cas…Cas. He ground his hips against Cas’ thigh and the angel gasped, pressing back in kind so Dean could feel the hard press of his own arousal.

A moan escaped Dean, wanton and uninhibited and he grasped Cas’ ass and tumbled back onto the couch, pulling the angel on top of him. Cas’ thighs parted and he straddled Dean instinctively as they continued to kiss. Dean’s fingers tugged Cas’ tie, loosening it enough to bare his throat so Dean could suck a mark there, claiming the angel as his own. Cas’ head fell back in pleasure, his breaths quickening as arousal took hold of him and had his hands pushing under Dean’s many layers to come in contact with the hunter’s bare skin. 

“Cas,” Dean moaned out the name as Cas’ hand fell to his lap, pressing against his throbbing erection. 

“Dean,” Cas rumbled, his voice noticeably deeper and darker with lust. The wet slide of a tongue traced Dean’s jugular and a pair of warm, wet lips latched onto the spot behind his ear that made his toes curl as Cas left his own mark behind.

Dean’s fingers threaded into Cas’ hair again, and Dean pulled him close, burying his nose in the angel’s hair and breathing him in, committing his scent to memory. 

It was all wrong. Too spicy, too perfumed. This thing didn’t smell like Cas.

This wasn’t Cas.

Dean stood, knocking Mia off his lap and to the ground at his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes wide as saucers as he realized what he’d almost done. He was so lost in the fantasy of finally having Cas that he let himself forget. He was there for closure, to say goodbye, but once the carrot was dangled before him… the living, breathing doppelgänger of the man he loved, he had to have him. Goodbye was no longer an option in his mind.

“You’re not him… I’m so sorry,” he apologized again and pulled Mia to her feet, keeping his eyes averted because he couldn’t look at Cas’ face any longer. 

Cas was gone.

“No, I’m sorry. I let it happen. I could have stopped you, but I thought you needed…”

“Please, stop using his voice,” Dean said, his voice breaking on the last word. “I can’t… you can’t be him… this won’t work.” He stood in the middle of the room, eyes shut tightly and fists clenched tight at his sides to resist the urge to look at or touch Mia again. Footsteps sounded on the floor as Mia left the room, presumably to change back into herself again.

Dean wanted out. This would never work. Nothing would give him closure. Nothing could make him miss Cas any less. He knew he should stay, apologize again for taking advantage of Mia like that, but he didn’t want to stay in that house for one more minute. He stepped as lightly as he could, sneaking to the front door and leaving it all behind him.

Once Sam picked him up, the drive back to the bunker took about ten hours, and Dean was beyond drained by the time they got back. His sleep over the last few days, if you could call it sleep, had been so restless, so riddled with dreams of darkness and a panicked Cas he could never quite reach before waking up again. Every night, every nap was the same. He would sleep for an hour and wake in terror, only to lie awake for an hour before trying again. It had been like this for days, and by the time he reached his room and sank down onto the memory foam he’d loved so much, he swore he’d give his left arm for a solid four hours of dreamless sleep.

He stripped down to his boxer briefs and slid under the covers. Everything around him was falling part, including the carefully constructed walls he’d built around his heart over the years. He didn’t even have the energy to hate Jack anymore, going out of his way to tell the kid he did good saving them from the evil shapeshifter they’d encountered in Madison. He’d broken down and actually talked about his feelings for once, telling Sam his faith was gone.

And it was. He’d prayed every day, every night for something, anything from Chuck. Cas back? A sign that Cas was at peace? A promise that he’d see Cas again after his own death? Anything. He just wanted something from Chuck to let him know he was listening to Dean’s prayers.

Dean threw back the covers and slid out of the bed. Maybe if he did this right it would make a difference. He considered tossing a pillow on the floor to cushion his knees, but then figured, the discomfort was probably meant to be part of the experience. He sunk down to his knees and propped his elbows on the bed, clasping his hands together in a classic prayer position.

“Ok, Chuck. This is the last time. I’m getting kind of tired of feeling like the ugly girl at the prom. But I’m on my knees, really praying this time, and I need you to hear me,” Dean spoke passionately, his words sounding desperate, even to his own ears. 

“I’ve come to the conclusion that you aren’t going to come down here or send me a sign about Cas. But I need you to stop the dreams. I’m powerless there. I can’t help him. I try Chuck. I hear him calling out, looking for someone, and no one answers him. I run and run, but every time I get close, I wake up. So I need it to stop. Either give him back or stop this bullshit and give me the strength to get through this. Or hell… fucking take me. I’m ready… I’m just so tired. It never ends. The world always needs saving, but it’s never truly saved. Every time we think we’ve won, something shittier comes along, more people die, and I don’t want to do it anymore. Chuck, just take me. Put me wherever he is and leave us be…” Dean trailed off. He didn’t know what else to say and tears were streaming down his face now, wetting his chest on their path toward the ground. “Please, Chuck. Amen,” he added for good measure.

Dean unclasped his hands and sat back on his heels, waiting for a bright light to claim him or something. When his prayers went, once again, unanswered and nothing happened, he gave up and slipped back into bed. Short of taking his own life, he assumed he was stuck here in this Cas-less life. 

Eventually, he drifted off to sleep, immediately surrounded by the all too familiar nothingness he always found himself in after slipping into unconsciousness. He waited, listening for Cas’ panicked _“Hello,”_ but it was’t coming. 

He started to walk, as he always did, in the general direction Cas’ voice always seemed to come from. It was getting monotonous being there in that black dreamscape, but he went through the motions, searching for Cas like always. Maybe this time when he found him, he could stay longer, talk to him, figure out what this place was and why Cas was there.

After what felt like hours, a footstep sounded behind him and he spun on his heel, but the darkness was too thick, hiding whoever it was that hid in the infinite shadows. 

“Cas?” he called, hoping with every thing he had that this was it, this was the moment he’d finally reach Cas and talk to him. 

A few more footsteps, closer this time.

“Cas!” Dean’s feet moved of their own accord, carrying him toward the footsteps. 

The tiniest bit of movement caught his eye up ahead and he barreled forward, rushing towards it. “Cas!” 

A figure emerged from the darkness in front of Dean and his eyes went wide as he took it in.

“Hello, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffy?
> 
> Thank you for reading and (hopefully) being patient while we keep dealing with Dean's man pain.
> 
> I still like comments more than is probably healthy, so leave me some? Pretty please?

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are my happy place. 
> 
> If anything, let me know if you see any typos, extra words left behind during an edit or anything that needs a fix.


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